In The Other Leg Of The Trousers
by dreamkin
Summary: Something that has been plaguing me since I read Jingo, but no-one else has written it, so I have instead. This is the tale of the other Vimes, the one who chose to stay in Ankh-Morpork...


In The Other Leg Of The Trousers

- Jingo : The Untold Story

…a Discworld fanfiction by dreamkin…

…characters property of Terry Pratchett…

"Something's happened to Angua," said Vimes.

The high colour drained from Carrot's face. "How did you know that?"

Vimes firmly closed the lid on the sniggering demon. "Let's call it intuition, shall we? I'm right, am I?"

"Yes sir! She went aboard a Klatchian boat and now it's sailing! She hasn't come off!"

"What the hell did she go on for?"

"We were after Ahmed! And he looked as if he was taking someone with him, sir. Someone _ill_, sir!"

"He's left? But the diplomats are still-"

            ~ Extract from _Jingo_

Vimes stopped. A thousand different thoughts clamoured on the door in his brain, but he was only letting them in one at a time, and the obvious fact that Carrot had left his, well, his girlfriend on a ship to sail to a strange country full of foreigners Ankh Morpork may or may not be at war with he was simply pretending not to be home to. It was a Carrot thing, and Vimes didn't pretend to understand, or really agree with, Carrot's way of thinking. 

He would like to believe Carrot and he had the same values, but whereas Vimes was more likely to bend the rules* to serve those values, Carrot would undoubtedly follow the rules, and probably get better results anyway. Then again, Carrot was still naïve in some matters, and Vimes was a jaded, cynical old bastard. They were obviously not going to share the same outlook on life. He forced his thoughts back to the present.

            He had to choose what to do, and he had to choose _now_. His instincts screamed at him to go after Ahmed, rescue Angua, but a nasty little voice was whispering in his ear that he couldn't leave the city to the diplomats right now. Who knew what stupid things would Rust do with Vetinari out of the city, without Vimes to keep an eye on him?

Vimes stared at Carrot. For a split second he had the strangest sense he was two people, two Samuel Vimes'. And everything balanced on this one decision he was about to make. 

"No, Captain. Corporal Angua can look after herself, you know that."

Just for an instant, Carrot looked crestfallen.

"But sir-"

"I have to stay in Ankh-Morpork right now Carrot."

And the _other_ Vimes, who made the _other_ choice, spiralled off into a different future.

Vimes started for the door. 

"Follow me."

Carrot hesitated, and there was a dangerous moment. Then:

"Where are we going, sir?"

"I'm going to have a little chat with a certain aristocratic friend of mine."

Vimes gave Carrot a grim smile and headed out the room, then ran back and grabbed the Dis-organiser off the desk, muttering "bloody thing" while he did so. If it felt slightly different in any way, he didn't notice. The door slammed as the two men left the office.

Outside, the streets were in an even worse state than usual. Although Ankh-Morpork streetlife was, at the best of times, just one punch away from a brawl, especially around the notorious public houses, usually there was a kind of highly-strung peace. But now most of the citizens were in a state of barely controlled fury. Small scuffles broke out in alleys and sidestreets, but seemed to result in nothing more serious than bleeding noses and some rather inventive insults. 

The steady stream of Klatchian inhabitants making for the docks had somewhat lessened as the immigrants rushed to flee the city.

Tension seemed almost tangible, and if it had been Vimes would have had to dig his way through the air to the Palace. 

As it was, small squads of soldiers passed the Watchmen as they walked, their brightly coloured uniforms almost offensively shiny. Ranging from the older and wiser to the more impressionable young lads, virtually every male in Ankh-Morpork was kitted out in a uniform.

Nothing like a war to inspire patriotic spirit, reflected Vimes grimly.

He was getting angrier and angrier as he Patroled down the roads, Carrot on his heels. He hated seeing the Ankh-Morporkians acting like this, like stupid animals. He knew that, deep down, under the pretence of intelligence, most people _were _just dumb animals, and mobs more than anyone else**, but that was no reason to act like one!

"Sir?" Carrot interrupted his silent ranting.

"Yes, Carrot?"

"If Angua doesn't get back by herself, will Lord Rust start the war?"

Vimes didn't answer for a moment. 

"No Carrot. We're going to stop him."

…end part one…

*When bending didn't work, breaking usually did, but Vimes tried to keep conceal it when he was force to do this, as he hated seeing Sybil's face when she found out he'd done something below her Standards for a Watchman.

**It was a well known and rather sore point to Vimes that the intelligence of a mob is that of its dimmest member divided by the number of mobsters, and while this was often useful in day-to-day coppering, it never failed to irritate him.

~~~

Much as I hate writing Authors Notes, I'm adding one here to plead for information. Can someone please tell me if they know where Lord Rust lives? I'm guessing near Scoone Avenue, but I'm not sure. And also, if anyone can tell me whereabouts the City Walls are I'd be grateful, coz otherwise I'm going to have to guess or make up names. By this I mean names of streets you would have to use to get to the walls, perhaps some landmarks near them, that kind of thing…?. Thanks y'all. I'll try to write the next chapter ASAP. Love dreamkin 


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